


Fearless child, broken boy (Tell me what it’s like to burn)

by Caivallon



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 16:38:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16685260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caivallon/pseuds/Caivallon
Summary: When they call the name - written on a small slip of paper that they pull out of the glass ball - he knows. Knows and remembers the face belonging to that name: a boy, tanned and tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes.Andyoung.‘Far too young,’ Patrick thinks.





	Fearless child, broken boy (Tell me what it’s like to burn)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short idea I came up with while watching the movie a couple of days ago. I wish I could’ve come up with something more original and something more happy for Patrick’s birthday, but it is as it is. 
> 
> I hope you still like it. 
> 
> Thank you, [ **Aya** ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldLace) for the surprisingly heart wrecking beta job. Next time I’ll hopefully come up with something more fluffy. I’m happy that you challenge me with every little thing I write. ♥
> 
>  
> 
> [](https://ibb.co/jVx2NA)  
>   
> [](https://ibb.co/f4LWhA)

**** **Fearless child, broken boy - Tell me what it’s like to burn**

 

When they call the name - written on a small slip of paper that they pull out of the glass ball - he knows. Knows and remembers the face belonging to that name: a boy, tanned and tall, with dark hair and even darker eyes.

And _young_.

‘ _Far too young_ ,’ Patrick thinks when he watches the boy get up and walk through the rows of other boys and men of their district to the aisle where Patrick is sitting. Neither looking left or right—just like no one is looking at the boy, everybody is staring down, trying to hide the relief that it’s not them.

From the thousands of people, Patrick is probably the only one able to meet the boy’s eyes. Because he’s the only one that knows how it feels to hear his name called and walk up to that aisle and then through hell.

__

Jonathan is fast and strong, Patrick learns while he trains with him. While he tries to prepare him for what’s lying ahead of him. As much as one can prepare a 14-year-old boy to become a murderer and kill eleven other men just for the entertainment of a ruling class that is so spoilt and sick and degenerate that Patrick can’t even stand being in their presence without being drunk or stoned or both.

Jonathan is focused and smart and a quick learner, Patrick realizes while they travel to the Capitol. While he tries to teach him everything he knows about edible plants and catching little animals with snares. About making fire without lighters or matches and how important it is to find water and keep hydrated. About the horrible slaughter that would take place right after the cannon sound that announced the beginning of the games and that Jonathan should stay away from it, should run for shelter and hideaways. That he should turn around and never look back to the shouts of pain and the sights of the bloodbath that Patrick still can’t stop dreaming about, that make him wake up in the middle of the night, shivering and sobbing.

Jonathan is gentle and sweet and has the kindest heart. Patrick didn’t find this out while they lived in the high rise apartment of the Capitol’s training center. Patrick knew this right from the beginning and even before. From every time he met the boy in their shabby hometown, clad in dirty rags that barely covered his bony ankles even in midwinter while he gave away the huge cotton cloth that served as his scarf to one of the many beggars on High Street. Or when he watched the boy’s big, soft eyes get even softer when he leaned down to ruffle a younger boys hair before he offered him the small roll of bread he just bought for himself after helping to unload the truck at the bakery. Or whenever he spotted him smiling; bright and warm, at whomever he met, no matter how hard and cruel his father had beaten him for coming home without food.

Patrick has observed the boy for a long time, but he doubted the boy even noticed. Was even glad about it—he couldn’t imagine those eyes looking through him because he was not worth their attention. He couldn’t imagine those eyes looking at him with nothing but pity because Patrick may have money and the dubious fame of a former victor but he still spent his days alone and his nights even lonelier—no company besides the liquor he wanted to drown himself in and the shame of his memories.

But now Jonathan looks at him. Trusts him, like he trusts everyone. Trusts him even though he shouldn’t. Because everything that Patrick can teach him is hiding and waiting. Fighting and killing. While the boy teaches him so much more: pride and dignity. And compassion.

Patrick is almost eight years older but every time he talks to the boy he feels like he’s the one learning the important things. The things that really count.

When he watches Jonathan greeting everybody on their way to the training center, or when he helps the old man from District 7 that can hardly walk pick up the keycard he had dropped. Or when he smiles at Patrick after he finished his round in the ring, sheepish and proud, holding his bo staff in front of him, waiting for praise. But mostly when he looks up at Patrick at the end of the day, dark eyes so intense and insecure while he asks Patrick to keep him company instead of joining one of the countless parties a former victor could attend in the Capitol. To have dinner together and later maybe talk—not about the games (because they scare them both), not about the future (because Jonathan may not have one), not about the past (because Patrick’s is hell). Just about the present.

Staying with Jonathan is no hardship. Something that surprises him. There is no alcohol for him, no loud music, no girls - nothing to distract him from the voices of doubt in his head. The only time he poured himself a drink after dinner, Jonathan looked at him with a frown, not bothering to hide the disgust in his eyes. Since then Patrick stays sober, doesn’t even reach for the bottle after the boy went to bed and he sits alone in the darkness of the living room. Doesn’t leave to follow one of the invitations he got from people who only sought his attention because of the glory he represents, for the charming and fake personality he pretends to be or they made him be.

With Jonathan, there is no pretense. Jonathan sees right through it, calls him out for that.

With Jonathan, he doesn’t need it. Jonathan smiles at him, tells him there is no need.

That Patrick can trust him.

That Patrick is better than _them_.

That _they_ don’t own Patrick.

And sometimes - when he’s around Jonathan - he almost believes it.

It’s so easy.

Because Jonathan does it. Because Jonathan is _truly and utterly good_. So good that he can even find something good in Patrick. That he can’t see how dark and dirty the Games have made Patrick become.

__

Of course, Jonathan manages to impress the judges in his private session with his abilities to handle the bo staff, gets amazingly high scores that raise the pressure and the people’s interest in him. And of course, everyone in the Capitol falls even more in love with him during the TV interviews, where he sits on the big plush couch, small and slender and yet emanating a strength and fierce willpower that is almost visible. Where he gives his answers to all the blatant and silly questions with a sincerity and honesty that is so obvious that no one is able to resist him. Where he smiles those shy and sweet smiles that none of those liars and fakers deserve.

Patrick knows he doesn’t deserve them either. But he takes them just as greedily and eagerly. Absorbs them and the sheer goodness and pureness that the boy radiates. Bask in it as if it could save his soiled soul.

And when the day comes on which he has to let the boy walk away and board the plane that would take him to the arena, Patrick knows that he would volunteer as a tribute, would walk through the hell that is the Games again, just to save Jonathan.

Not to get him not killed, because he’s sure that Jonathan is good. Good enough to have a real chance.

And Patrick _could_ do his best to help him to survive and win.

Even if it would kill Jonathan’s heart.

Because winning would destroy him.

Would only leave an empty shell behind; looking like Jonathan from the outside. With a black hole where his heart once has been—needing every drug and daze that his money could buy to fill it and forget the memories of the days he spent in the arena.

 _Just like Patrick_.

__

End.

 

Thanks for reading ♥


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